taking great care not to put any pressure on his bruised chest.
‘Thanks, angel,’ he murmured, letting his eyes drift shut again.
‘My name’s Kitty,’ she said, not sure that Bobby should be talking about angels at such a time.
He gave a slight shake of his head. ‘I wanna call you Angel.’
Kitty let this slide. ‘I thought you might be thirsty. Would you like a little tea?’ She picked up the cup.
His blue eyes opened to a squint and he frowned at the teacup in her hands.
‘I know you Americans prefer coffee, but I’m afraid we don’t have any. This is nice, hot tea – well, not too hot – with plenty of sugar to give you strength. Let’s give it a try.’
She dipped a spoon into the cup and held it to Bobby’s lips, tilting it carefully, hoping she didn’t make him cough. She was sure it would be agony for him to cough.
Obediently, he swallowed the tea, but after only a few sips, he was exhausted from the effort and sank back against the pillows with his eyes closed. His lips were very pale and faint beads of sweat gleamed on his forehead.
Alarmed, Kitty set the cup back on the bedside table.
‘Are you feeling too hot? Or too cold?’ she asked softly.
Bobby gave a faint shake of his head.
‘Please, tell me if there’s anything I can do for you.’
‘Just stay with me, Angel.’
There was an old bentwood chair in the corner. Until now, Kitty had only ever flung clothes over it, but she drew it close to the bed and sat down. Outside, the rain continued to fall, drumming on the iron roof in a monotonous downpour, and she wondered how far Ed had walked. Had he managed to get across the creek yet?
As if Bobby could read her mind, he said, ‘Where’s Ed?’
‘He’s gone to fetch a doctor.’
‘So you’ve a vehicle?’
‘No, he’s on foot.’
‘But hell, it’s too far. There aren’t any houses for miles around.’ Even though his eyes were still closed, Bobby’s forehead was furrowed in a deep frown. ‘We could see that from the air.’
‘Yes, well . . .’ Kitty knew she wouldn’t help Bobby by casting doubt on Ed’s efforts.
‘S’pose he’s managed to blame himself for the crash,’ Bobby said next. ‘Wasn’t his fault. He can’t take the blame just because he outranks me.’ Now he began to pick at his bedclothes with anxious, stabbing motions. ‘We ran into a storm and it drove us inland and then we ran out of fuel.’
Kitty was alarmed by Bobby’s agitation. It couldn’t be good for him. His voice was getting hoarse and she was terrified he’d make himself cough if he talked too much.
‘Don’t worry. You’re safe now. I’m sure Ed will get help.’
‘Of course – he’s the prince,’ Bobby said next.
‘A prince?’
‘That’s his nickname. The prince. Born to lead.’
She patted his hand. ‘Shh . . . don’t try to talk. You need to rest.’
‘No, but it’s true,’ Bobby insisted. ‘Ed’s a Boston blueblood. Family goes back to the
Mayflower
. Rich as Croesus.’
‘Shh, Bobby. Please, rest now.’
In spite of the rain, it was a warm night, but Bobby’s skin was cold and clammy. Kitty wondered which was more dangerous – being cold or burning up. She collected another blanket from the cupboard in the hall and tucked it around him. He seemed to be asleep, so she sat again, quietly watching and worrying, listening to the rain.
She thought about what he’d said about Ed. A Boston blueblood. It fitted with his handsome, film-star looks. She thought about the strange turn her life had taken, bringing her out here to Moonlight Plains, which was such a different world from the suburbs of Townsville. Arriving here, she’d found the house a mess and her Aunt Lil’s beautiful garden flattened by the February rains, even heavier than the rain falling now. Vegetables had been rotten on their stems, their leaves yellowed and blotched with mould.
She thought about Andy Mathieson and their fumbling farewell on the verandah. Back in
‘Thanks, angel,’ he murmured, letting his eyes drift shut again.
‘My name’s Kitty,’ she said, not sure that Bobby should be talking about angels at such a time.
He gave a slight shake of his head. ‘I wanna call you Angel.’
Kitty let this slide. ‘I thought you might be thirsty. Would you like a little tea?’ She picked up the cup.
His blue eyes opened to a squint and he frowned at the teacup in her hands.
‘I know you Americans prefer coffee, but I’m afraid we don’t have any. This is nice, hot tea – well, not too hot – with plenty of sugar to give you strength. Let’s give it a try.’
She dipped a spoon into the cup and held it to Bobby’s lips, tilting it carefully, hoping she didn’t make him cough. She was sure it would be agony for him to cough.
Obediently, he swallowed the tea, but after only a few sips, he was exhausted from the effort and sank back against the pillows with his eyes closed. His lips were very pale and faint beads of sweat gleamed on his forehead.
Alarmed, Kitty set the cup back on the bedside table.
‘Are you feeling too hot? Or too cold?’ she asked softly.
Bobby gave a faint shake of his head.
‘Please, tell me if there’s anything I can do for you.’
‘Just stay with me, Angel.’
There was an old bentwood chair in the corner. Until now, Kitty had only ever flung clothes over it, but she drew it close to the bed and sat down. Outside, the rain continued to fall, drumming on the iron roof in a monotonous downpour, and she wondered how far Ed had walked. Had he managed to get across the creek yet?
As if Bobby could read her mind, he said, ‘Where’s Ed?’
‘He’s gone to fetch a doctor.’
‘So you’ve a vehicle?’
‘No, he’s on foot.’
‘But hell, it’s too far. There aren’t any houses for miles around.’ Even though his eyes were still closed, Bobby’s forehead was furrowed in a deep frown. ‘We could see that from the air.’
‘Yes, well . . .’ Kitty knew she wouldn’t help Bobby by casting doubt on Ed’s efforts.
‘S’pose he’s managed to blame himself for the crash,’ Bobby said next. ‘Wasn’t his fault. He can’t take the blame just because he outranks me.’ Now he began to pick at his bedclothes with anxious, stabbing motions. ‘We ran into a storm and it drove us inland and then we ran out of fuel.’
Kitty was alarmed by Bobby’s agitation. It couldn’t be good for him. His voice was getting hoarse and she was terrified he’d make himself cough if he talked too much.
‘Don’t worry. You’re safe now. I’m sure Ed will get help.’
‘Of course – he’s the prince,’ Bobby said next.
‘A prince?’
‘That’s his nickname. The prince. Born to lead.’
She patted his hand. ‘Shh . . . don’t try to talk. You need to rest.’
‘No, but it’s true,’ Bobby insisted. ‘Ed’s a Boston blueblood. Family goes back to the
Mayflower
. Rich as Croesus.’
‘Shh, Bobby. Please, rest now.’
In spite of the rain, it was a warm night, but Bobby’s skin was cold and clammy. Kitty wondered which was more dangerous – being cold or burning up. She collected another blanket from the cupboard in the hall and tucked it around him. He seemed to be asleep, so she sat again, quietly watching and worrying, listening to the rain.
She thought about what he’d said about Ed. A Boston blueblood. It fitted with his handsome, film-star looks. She thought about the strange turn her life had taken, bringing her out here to Moonlight Plains, which was such a different world from the suburbs of Townsville. Arriving here, she’d found the house a mess and her Aunt Lil’s beautiful garden flattened by the February rains, even heavier than the rain falling now. Vegetables had been rotten on their stems, their leaves yellowed and blotched with mould.
She thought about Andy Mathieson and their fumbling farewell on the verandah. Back in
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